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[ Static is what begins this broadcast. A little crackle at first, but quickly increasing and peaking for a moment before receding again. Once it has mostly died down a deep, labored intake of breath can be heard before the image taken of the camera flickers to life.

Jon looks into said camera with a mix of dread and fatigue, fresh blood smeared through a face that hasn't been a shower in a while, yet has been to plenty of unpleasant places very recently. His hair is messy. Cut short and out of his face for practicality, but nowhere as neatly trimmed as it has been after their visit to Coruscant. Much more notable are his eyes, however. Where before their dull, muddy green hasn't been drawing much attention, they are now a brighter, much more piercing and maybe a little unnatural greyish green.

After a moment of quietly contemplating his screen, Jon's face settles into a frown. His voice carries a slight tremor when he starts speaking, causing the static to return for half a moment before it levels back down along with the tremor in Jon's voice. ]

H̶ow.̧.̡. ̀

... how long was I gone? And--

What happened to the network?

[ He tried scrolling back, but all he can see is the same message, over and over and over again. ]

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Not that the gesture, or tone, were in any way unclear, but Tony still responded to it as though Jon was waving him closer, shuffling out of the doorway at first then closing his eyes with a fond smile at Jon's miserable concern, lighter on his feet then and meeting Jon in the dusty street in a rush. The lightness faded on the approach and as Tony could properly process the grime of him, most of it ambiguous smudges but the dark, curdling patch on his shirt and across his face had to be blood. He was surprisingly mobile for bleeding out of the chest, though, so Tony held him at a distance with one hand tentatively out as he asked, "Is that yours?"

The eyes, too. Those were hard to ignore. Not exactly the ominous glow that would send static through Tony's brain, but nearer to it than Jon's eyes should have been and making Tony impulsively offer, "I'm sorry," before it got any worse, not sure which of the myriad of problems he had or was currently causing had earned that reaction but willing to humiliate himself for any of them.

Jon stops in front of Tony's hand, his eyes dropping down to it before shifting further down to consider the state of his shirt. "...didn't have time to change." He concludes, then reaches up to take Tony's hand in both of his before lifting his eyes back up to meet Tony's. "Billy patched me up. But... I know you wouldn't let him."

He gives the hand a little squeeze, expression shifting from irritation to concern. "Jesus, Tony. What did you- Catra said you fell out of the sky! And I- I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to- But also-- Shit, I missed you!"

And there is very little chance Tony will escape being embraced by this blood-soaked little man. But if he wants to be really observant, then he may notice that Jon's current glasses are still the very same ones Tony made for him before the trip to Coruscant.

Jon taking his hand was almost reassuring enough, for both Tony's anxiety about the glowing-eyed anger and whatever trauma he was looking at, but he did look wildly disturbed that Jon had been hurt enough to make that much blood in the moment he had before Jon was crushed against him. Every bruise ached in protest, but that didn't stop Tony from folding around him and squeezing all of built up, longing pressure around him; if he was still hurt, Tony figured it was an ache they were both willing to tolerate for the moment.

He sucked in a few rapid, aborted breaths, not sure where to start and dismissing thoughts that immediately felt much less important--he would rather Billy helped than Jon bled out, the fall wasn't that bad, why was Jon even back--and patted a hand through Jon's greasy hair restlessly. Eventually, he landed on the practical, "Let's clean you up," easing back just enough to check if Jon was in pain then turning his head to indicate their way back to the forge.

It's fine. A little pain is fine, especially in exchange for this still way too familiar and very much precious warmth. Jon wraps his own arms tightly around Tony, pressing his face into his neck and shoulder almost desperately before inhaling deeply, then exhaling again, letting the scent soothe his mind and help let some of his tension seep away.

When Tony shifts back a little, Jon doesn't hold him back, instead pulls one of his hands back around and up to place it against the side of Tony's face for a moment while nodding in agreement. "Right. We have- Running water here. Heh. Been a while..."

His hand slips down to rest against Tony's chest and Jon leans his head forward to lightly lean his forehead against it as well, letting out another deep breath, attempting to expel that bundle of anxiety that had tied itself together in his chest ever since hearing that Tony has injured himself. But Tony is alright. Still, he had to suffer through Jon suddenly being gone. And that's an entirely different type of unpleasant knot to unwind.

"I'm glad you're okay. Relatively. And I'm- I'm sorry. For leaving... That you had to experience that."

While Tony gladly leaned in to the touch to his face, he was already feeling rapidly undone and his eyes grew wide and anxious by the time Jon was graciously leaning into him and...giving him enough of a distraction to not start immediately crying in the middle of the street. Why was running water a surprise? From the state of Jon, Tony gladly suppressed the idea that this was some alternate Jon, from a different point in time that didn't really know what state Temba was in. He did quickly glean that much more time must have passed for Jon than the few, empty days it was for Tony, making him wrap Jon tightly again, bowed and both hands curled over his head to keep him pressed close to the thundering of his heart, sick with dread for just how long that could have been. That didn't quite explain being surprised at the concept of running water for clearly having not experienced it for some time. Jon was supposed to go back to normal life.

Tony shook his head, a small movement that ruffled Jon's hair, and muttered, "I'm sorry I couldn't follow. I tried, but--" Well, Jon already got the ending to that story. Quieter, he wondered, "Where did you go?," already apprehensive, sure he wasn't going to like the answer.

“London.“ Comes the short, initial response and Jon presses his face as much as he can into Tony’s warm embrace, seeking its soothing effect.

“I went right back to the Institute. My version of Earth. Then... Things happened. An attack, fleeing to Scotland... I was-” Jon’s voice has been dropping and his hands clawing into the back of Tony‘s shirt and it takes him another moment to admit. “I ended my Earth, Tony. I killed it. Turned it into a nightmare for everyone that wasn’t me.” There is clear defeat in his voice. The tone doesn’t change when Jon manages to add, painfully aware of just how tired he feels at that moment. “...I’m not even sure if we managed to successfully undo it...”

They definitely shouldn't have been out here, and Tony gave a quick glance back the way Jon had come from as he felt the tense straining on his shirt and tried to form a soothing rhythm down Jon's neck. He was prepared or equipped to process 'ended my Earth', not sure enough what that meant with too many variables to account for, but he gave a slow nod of acknowledgement regardless, his shoulders dropping with the dwindling energy in Jon's voice.

He was going to have to say something, so he started with, "Okay," with a firmer squeeze to Jon's neck to prepare him for the shift. It wasn't going to be easy to let each other go for the moment, that much was obvious, so Tony dropped his hug around Jon's shoulders to pick him up around his thighs and lift him into a secure hold against Tony's chest. It still wasn't a particularly difficult lift, there had never been enough to Jon, but it felt off enough that Tony had to update his meticulous map in a beat where he lingered with his face pressed into Jon's shoulder despite the grinding protest of every small fracture he was nursing. "Okay," he said again, more definitively, and started them back into the dark security of the forge. "Tomorrow," he said as the went, meaning the future, how he could think about this and maybe they could work backwards from there, "could you do it again?" That wasn't exactly the correct question, but trying, "Would you," didn't feel entirely correct, either.

Jon isn't quite as prepared to be picked up as he possibly should have been, but to his credit he doesn't make much in terms of protest but rather holds on reflexively, his own head leaning against Tony's while his heart still stumbles over itself. His heart, which isn't entirely certain what to do anymore. It has already lost Tony once, but earned Martin. Now it has lost Martin, yet found its way back to Tony. This mix of joy and and pain is nothing if not confusing and Jon lets out a small sigh, trying not to focus on it.

He barely notices Tony starting to moving them towards the forge. But his head tips a little to the side when the man speaks. Tomorrow. Right. Maybe laying out all the information can wait a few more hours.

The question makes him frown. "No." The reply is a definite one. No arguing. Jon presses his face into Tony's hair and mutters. "It was terrible. It felt terrible. Speaking those words, feeling them force their way through and out of me... No one- should have to experience that. No one should experience that guilt and this feeling of powerlessness." Jon shudders into his own grimace, then tries to steady his shaking voice. "-but I suppose I still meet the requirements. Just hope the Fears have not followed me here..."

The definitive 'No' had Tony nodding, great, easy problem solved, Jon was either unwilling or unequipped to do whatever it was that had caused the worst, so it was only the guilt to manage in the future. Which was still a challenge, but not one on the scale of a nightmare apocalypse. Tony was less convinced of that 'no' as Jon went on, between the 'powerlessness' and the 'meet the requirements', making him frown as he let them into the reliably warm confines of the forge, even with the fire burning so low and untended. They could still work from 'no' for now, but the data was stored attentively for Tony to listen for and expand.

"Hey, boss, that's alright," he soothed softly before that waver in Jon's voice became tears that Tony didn't know what to do with. "We're going to work on it, we're going to fix it." The Fears Tony understood, with the capital 'F', and while he didn't know why it would be different this time if Jon hadn't had any reason to assume they had followed him before, Tony offered, "You've got backup here." And while he meant very seriously that Cayde could shoot anything that Tommy couldn't punch or Billy couldn't ask to stop, he added, "Those animals of yours have been keeping the library on lockdown, nothing's getting in there without you."

He carried them straight through to the small bathroom across the workspace, closing them into the secure, quiet seclusion of it. It wasn't luxurious by far, just a toilet facing a sink that they basically had the room to stand between, and a shower that Tony had clearly mounted on the wall himself that drained between Tony's feet. "Always hot water with the fire," he promised idly as he switched it on, keeping them carefully out of the spray for now though unbothered by the splash rapidly soaking the ankles of his pants while he pressed his nose for a moment longer into the curve of Jon's neck.

Jon wants to believe that. He wants to believe that there are ways of dealing with the Powers in a way that doesn't just unleash them onto another world. It's what he had hoped to do: Permanently get rid of them.

...but then his friends had already set the gas main alight and only one option remained.

He doesn't get to dwell on those memories for long once Tony mentions the mothcats still living in the library. "...Countess?" He manages to voice his bewilderment, remembering the winged feline and her litter and lifting his head as if peering over his own shoulder. Jon gives a little smile of relief. "Christ, I'm glad they're fine."

The water is a welcome surprise, causing Jon to look up towards its source before reaching a grimy and blood-covered hand into it, watching old dirt and blood and sweat be washed off. The remains of his time on his own world. "...there are no showers in the apocalypse." Is all he says, but at least he sounds less distressed about it.

"Oh, thank god, I thought this was a choice you were making, your new thing," Tony muttered back as though he hadn't already worked that one out. With a pat of warning, he finally let Jon slip out of his arms, though didn't go far yet, gingerly plucking Jon's glasses off instead to perch once again in his own hair for safekeeping and where he could study that strange, new colour of Jon's eyes with a hand lingering on his cheek for as long as he could manage before he could feel his heart clawing its way up his throat. With a quick blink, he rapidly continued, "It's only been a couple days," about the mothcats, dismissive as though it hadn't been long enough to picture the eternity that had opened up before him without Jon in it. The Countess probably was less aware of the unrelenting passage of time. Tony had looked away as he spoke, considering the array of bottles and tinctures on the high windowsill like he might be deciding which ones Jon wasn't allowed to use, but his gaze slid cautiously back toward Jon then to try to gauge how long 'a while' had been for him.

Being set back down into his own feet, hand still outstretched into the spray of water, almost feels like being given permission to fully step into the water. Which to Jon feels to be a rather tempting idea at that moment. His clothes are worn, torn and most likely will end up getting tossed into the forge’s furnace anyway. Sooner rather than later.

He still decides to take the pieces off, if only to give his skin a proper scrubbing.

“It’s..... Probably been months.” He offers as he pulls the off-color sweater he is wearing over his head, pausing then to look down and run his fingers over the mostly healed, but still very much present wound in his chest. Angrily red from blood and irritated skin. His final scar from his home world... “Time didn’t work anymore. Neither did space. Or reality... People didn’t die. They only suffered. Everyone suffered. I only hope that... It worked. And that what has been done was worth it.”

Dropping the article of clothes into the sink, Jon looks up at Tony, expression inquiring, though when he asks his question there is no hint of the compulsion that often used to linger in his words. “Can I borrow some clothes?”

Tony could feel the flinch tense in his shoulders as Jon pulled the sweater off, effectively breaking them apart for the first time since crashing into each other and setting Tony's teeth on edge as he made overtures of politeness like he would leave Jon to his privacy then, hand moving vaguely for the door. Not that this was at all what he wanted to do, and poorly sold it anyway as he stared with keen curiosity for the wound that could have produced so much blood to be revealed, and sighed at the raw skin like he had been holding his breath since he had set eyes on Jon and the dark stain across his front. A new line to map, and with Jon still talking it felt like an invitation to stay after all, letting Tony take his wrist carefully and touch his fingertips like he could feel the impression of the injury.

Feeling guilty enough already for leaving Jon to collect yet another scar, he only got as far as, "What--?," and couldn't really understand why the tone of Jon's questioning felt so wrong as the tension leapt back up into his shoulders at the request. Right, he was going, and with an easy problem to solve because it wasn't like Tony was going to leave Jon to walk back out of here still in those stained clothes. "Of course," he replied quickly, and released Jon to knot the errant hand in his own shirt instead as he pushed out of the bathroom, "That's what they're there for. I'm not wearing them. Formal, for the evening, I think."

Jon doesn't miss Tony's interest in the wound Billy has healed and by doing so has spared them an even more gory reunion. He doesn't mind. Tony knew his scars and has never shied away from them. Which Jon knows to appreciate. He lets Tony take his hand and observes the man's reaction wordlessly. There is a sadness in Tony's face. A guilt. Though none of what has happened is Tony's fault.

Regarding Tony with a fond smile, Jon nods at the response to his request and keeps watching Tony as the man moves to leave him alone with the hot water. "Thank you." He says softly and starts to take off his boots and remaining pieces of clothing to step under the cleansing spray of water entirely. Which feels very much needed and while Jon normally is one to shower quickly, but this one he takes his time to relish and properly wash away the stains and grime of the apocalypse he summoned himself.

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